Le Tue Parole
by Shantih
Summary: Takes place after season 4. Furio returns to the US, and continues with his lonely life working for Tony. But a girl comes along and steals his heart...
1. Chapter 1

Around 1:45 PM on a spring afternoon in Paterson, New Jersey, the anxious whine of a siren passing close by his window woke Furio Giunta in his new apartment for the first time.

"_Vaffanculo_," he muttered, and turned over.

For a few slow seconds he was completely disoriented before it came back to him that he was no longer in Napoli, but in a foreign country in a sparse apartment in an aggressively charmless neighbourhood – all thanks to his _puttana_ of a cousin, Annalisa. The ocean here was grey and filled with trash. The worst of it was he had no idea of how long he would have to stay here. He supposed he should be grateful that Tony Soprano had forgiven him for leaving with no explanation and let him come back to work for him, but the truth was the choice had never been his. He was even unhappier in the States this time around – oddly enough, since now with the death of his father he had less ties binding him to his homeland.

With a sigh, Furio made himself get up and set about fixing his morning espresso. On his way to what passed for the kitchen, he glanced into the empty bedroom and automatically crossed himself. With one day's notice that his life was about to be upheaved, he'd had to settle for the first available apartment that was close enough to Tony Soprano and his associates – an apartment that was, as it turned out, too big for just him by himself. There were two bedrooms, and now one lay empty. Furio was not a religious man, although he had been at one point, but he was superstitious. In living memory, he'd never forgotten one piece of his _nonna_'s wisdom and still lived by it as best he could – those sayings that hinted killing people was bad luck he'd had to ignore – but for almost every situation that came up in his life, Furio had developed rules for what must and must not be done. For these reasons – his logic and dizzying self-control – he had become one of the most dangerous hit men on his side of the Atlantic.

As an impatient driver outside beeped his horn, his _nonna_'s voice came back to him, almost so clear Furio wondered if he was hearing things:

"When you keep an empty room in a new house, the ones you love back home will soon be gone."

Furio was only troubled as he shaved and prepared for the day. He tried not to think about the empty room too much. Worrying made him less efficient.

That afternoon, at around 4:10 PM, a bus pulled into Madison, New Jersey from Brooklyn. Frankie waited for everybody else to get off before she collected up her bags. She wasn't in any great hurry. Later that day she would drop by the job Sheila had found for her. She could stay at Adrian Santos' this night in Paterson, and possibly the next one, if she hadn't found a room by then.

Her cell phone was ringing as she stepped off the bus.

"Hi Ma."

"Francesca? Did you get there okay?"

"Yeah, Ma, I'm fine. I'm in Madison now."

"You're sure you're okay? You sound strained."

"Mamma…" Frankie sighed. "I just banged my knee on the side, that's why. Don't worry yourself into an early grave."

"Oh, okay. No need to get snippy." A moment's pause. "But really, Francesca, I don't see why you feel the need…"

"Ma! Don't get started again!"

"All right, all right. But if you wanna live 'on your own' I don't see why you can't just move two streets over. Mrs. Marcolina's son just moved out and she gotta whole…"

"I'm sick of the city, Ma. I thought I explained this already."

"Oh excuse me! You don't think your father got 'sick of the city' when he was workin' 12 hours a day cleanin' streets? You didn't see him just waltzin' off…"

"Ma? Ma, I gotta go, I'm crossin' the street. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay, Francesca. I love you."

"Love you too, Ma."

When he came home that evening, at around 7:12 PM, Furio's white shirt was spattered with blood, dried to a dark red-black. There was a cut down his forearm, long but relatively shallow, where Jack LoSanto had gotten arrogant and tried to defend himself with a jackknife. Big mistake, Furio mused as he unbuttoned the shirt and tossed it into a corner. Jack had signed his own warrant for a slow, agonizing death, rather than the clean, quick one Furio had had in mind for him.

As he walked to the bathroom to take a shower before putting in an hour or two at Vesuvio, he caught a glimpse of the empty bedroom. For a second he thought he saw a body curled up beneath the covers. A second later it was gone. Furio frowned and muttered a prayer to himself. He liked knowing what he was seeing at all times. This fucking room was bothering him so much he thought it would drive him completely insane if he didn't do something about it soon.

And so it was that at 7:19 on a Tuesday evening, Furio Giunta decided to rent out the extra room. At 7:21 he was on the phone with a real estate lady, and by 7:25 he'd designed a decent advertisement for the room. At 7:37 that evening, he was walking out the door to Vesuvio, lighting up a cigarette. When he arrived at the restaurant, he stuck the advertisement on a nearby phone pole and went inside, feeling like a great burden had been lifted from his soul.

At around 9:04 PM, Frankie and her old friend Adrian were walking down the street in Paterson, reminiscing on old times. Adrian was Frankie's former best friend's ex-boyfriend, and although she and Liza never talked anymore, she still considered Adrian a nice guy. Adrian was recounting things from senior prom that Frankie had long ago forgotten – or tried to forget, as it turned out. She stopped and lit a cigarette halfway down the block, and noticed the nice-looking Italian restaurant across the sidewalk. It smelled really good.

"You hungry?" she asked Adrian.

"What, you wanna go in there?" he asked. "It's a mob hangout, somebody's probably gettin' whacked in there as we speak."

"No, dummy, it's too expensive anyway," she laughed. "I was just wonderin' if you wanted me to cook something when we get back to your place."

Adrian said yes he would, and Frankie took another drag on her cigarette and looked around. There was a paper stuck on a billboard nearby that looked new. She checked it out, and moments later Adrian heard a happy cry.

"It's a room!"

Furio had just inadvertently gotten some ash in the mozzarella, and was trying to cover it up when his cell phone rang.

"_Stronzo mozzarella,_" he hissed. He had no hands free and let it ring. He was relieved afterwards to find it had not been the number of anyone from Tony Soprano's crowd. He figured it was a wrong one.

"Well, they ain't pickin' up," said Frankie.

"Try again tomorrow."

"I'll leave a message."

"We could go check out the building," said Frankie later, "except there's no address on there. Ain't that weird? No home number either. No name!"

"I'm hungry," muttered Adrian.

When Furio got home that night, he was inordinately exhausted. He blamed it on jet lag, didn't bother to check his messages, and fell asleep instantly.

When he woke up at 10:36 AM on Wednesday morning, he was still disoriented but his surroundings clicked into place sooner. He sighed and rose to make his morning espresso. On his way he glanced triumphantly at the room that would, with any luck, soon not be empty. Flipping open his cell phone, he saw he had a new voice message.

"Hi, my name is Frankie and I saw the ad for your room outside Vesuvio. And, uh, well, I'm interested. I'd come pay you a visit but there's no address." Here she laughed a little, nervously. "Anyway, give me a call back at…"

Furio did, and this time it was she who did not pick up. He left a message. He wondered if she would talk a lot. Her Brooklyn drawl was not the easiest thing to understand, especially to someone whose grasp on the English language was uneven at best. But she had a nice voice, he thought. The espresso was not working out, and he decided to go to Satriale's instead.

Frankie woke up at 11 that morning with a slight headache. Feeling dishevelled, she slouched into the kitchen where Adrian greeted her with a Bloody Mary and the news that her phone had rung several times. She had a few new voice messages:

"Francesca? You said you'd call me back but you never did! Anyway I just wanted to know if you're okay and if you wanna come home yet. There's always gonna be a place for you here. Okay. I love you. Bye."

"Francesca? Why on earth are you not picking it up. What I wanna know is, are you still planning on staying with that Adrian? I wish you'd stay with Auntie Marjorie instead. I don't trust that kid, I never did. Do you want me to come pick you up? It's only an hour's drive. Please call me back. Bye."

"Francesca?" She sounded miserable. "Please call me."

"Hello. My name is Furio. I am calling you back about the room, I'm sorry I did not get you call last night. The apartment at number 7 at 34 19th Ave in Paterson. If you need…uh, how you say, directions, call me back. If you wanna come over this afternoon or something, that will be fine."

"All I am gonna say at this point, Francesca, is that if you had to spend the night on a park bench because you couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone, I'd be glad." A pause. "Unless you're in, like, some kind of trouble. Oh Francesca, please call me back! I couldn't sleep the whole night, I was so worried."

Frankie called Furio and made an appointment to come over at 2:00. Then she settled down to the daunting task of making a call to her mother.


	2. Chapter 2

Furio's doorbell rang at 2:00 prompt. _My kind of person,_ thought Furio as he went to answer it. He hated people who were always either too late or too early. He hated the latter more.

As the door swung open his eyes fell upon a girl in her mid twenties smiling up at him, wearing a lacy top and rather worn-looking baggy jeans.

"Hi!" she said.

_Scopilo,_ thought Furio. She was beautiful, and couldn't be more his type if she'd tried. Wide, searching green eyes, full lips. A soft face. Her hair was wavy and done up, a dyed-looking blonde but with dark roots. She was maybe 5'6" or 5'7", with long legs and nicely curved hips – _a child-bearing body,_ his mother would have approved – and lovely _seni_ – the way they nestled beneath the lace of her blouse invited inspection, but he didn't want to be caught studying them too hard at this point.

"Come in, I just making some coffee." She gave him a warm smile and came in. "What your name?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Frankie Sanzalone. Francesca, actually, but my mom's the only one calls me that."

"Furio Giunta. You're Sicilian?"

"Only half. My mother's family is Calabrese."

As he poured coffee, Frankie looked around the apartment. The shades were not drawn, and the afternoon light poured in, looking strangely harsh. "Sorry, it's not very beautiful yet," he apologized. "I move here day before yesterday."

"Really? Where did you live before?" When he told her he was from Naples, her eyes widened. "What was it like?"

As he told her details and described the city, he could tell she was utterly enchanted. Furio read people easily, and this girl was an open book. She wanted to see the world. He remembered when he'd been the same way, and wondered what had happened to him between then and now.

An hour later, they'd been through two pots of coffee, and what seemed like an endless store of conversation, although Furio felt no closer to really knowing her than he did when he'd first seen her. Those eyes, though. They held something. The kind of smoky eyes you can get lost in.

To Frankie, the tall stranger was a total enigma. She loved listening to him talk, but she got the feeling he was the type of man who usually didn't say much. He scared her a little, although she didn't let it show, and for a while she wondered if it was really the right decision to share an apartment with him – after all, she really didn't know him. But as they talked more, her foreboding seemed to melt away. Furio was still intimidating, but she didn't feel that she, at least, really had anything to fear from him.

His eyes, though. They were beautiful and strange, and the look in them had nothing to do with what he was talking about. For a second Frankie wished she could read his mind, then dismissed the strange thought. There was something deep in him she understood, although she didn't realize it yet, and Furio understood her in the same way.

But still, those blue eyes seemed a million miles away.

It was decided that Frankie would move in the same day, since Frankie liked the room, and Furio liked Frankie, and Frankie liked Furio more than she liked the room, which was, truth told, nothing special.

Frankie was pouring them both another cup of coffee when Furio got a call on his cell phone. He listened for a few moments, then muttered, "Ok, I'm there in five minutes."

He looked at Frankie, wishing he could stay longer. "I gotta go, I'm sorry." He handed her an extra set of keys. "The big one is for the outside door, the little one is for the inside one. If you want you can get your stuff this evening, I can give you a ride."

"I'm fine, it's walking distance." A moment's pause. "Everything okay?"

_That depends on how you look at it,_ Furio thought. "Yeah, yeah of course. Just I need to pick up a friend."

As he left for the Bing, Furio slipped back into his usual unflappable demeanour. He had a long day ahead of him, and it would probably be very bloody.

Tony Soprano flung himself into the car and ordered Furio, "Drive." Christopher Moltisanti didn't have time to close the door after himself before Furio stepped on the gas, leaving a screech of burning rubber in the parking lot of Jerry Nobile's casino.

This time it had been Furio who went in first, forcing one of the blackjack women upon pain of pain to divert Jerry into the bedroom quietly so the clientele would not run out. There he'd tied up the woman unharmed and proceeded to work Jerry over, finally leaving when most of the man's teeth were gone, a kneecap shot out, and his vision permanently impaired. Jerry would think they'd finished with him, and call up his associates who would still be downstairs, not wanting to cause financial woe for himself and others by calling the police.

Furio exited the building quietly and took over the wheel, pulling around to the back of the building for a quick getaway. Tony and Christopher waited until all the motherfuckers who'd screwed them over were in one room, and proceeded to force them, at gunpoint, to write out personal checks handing over most or all of their money, as well as the cash they had on them.

The finishing touch was completed in under five minutes, with piano wire and silenced pistols, and finally Tony and Christopher were the only ones left alive. They exited out the back.

Furio drove ten miles down the interstate to a bank where they cashed some of the checks quickly, transferring others to an untraceable private account. The night's work was finished. When they got back to the Bing, Tony was smugly counting up all the money, Christopher was twitching slightly, and Furio hadn't even broken a sweat. Of course, he more than welcomed a drink from Silvio.

As Silvio asked questions and Christopher worked on a bottle of Night Train, Furio absently wondered if anyone had found the bodies yet. Back in Italy, bosses would prefer to take a group of people out one at a time to cause less of a ripple in the water, but here, strangely enough, where the police still kept to their oaths, where they were not mostly kept in pocket, the Mob preferred to take out everybody at once. Rumors and allegations about the massacre they had just caused would fly around for a good while, yet Tony didn't seem to care. He held that once one or two of the illegal gamblers had been taken down, the others would hear about it and flee the country. Furio figured it was part of the so-called American way, to cause a big drama in a short time, rather than keep to the shadows. In Naples, names like John Gotti's were not found on the tongues of civilians.

Furio didn't drink any more that night, partly because he wanted to be able to drive home, and partly because he didn't want to run his mouth. He was feeling distinctly rebellious towards Tony Soprano and his methods. One thing that still bothered him was the fact that Tony and his crew considered him a commodity, somebody to do their dirty work. Tony or Christopher or Paulie would never hit a woman – or at least not brutalize her – but somehow they considered it okay when Furio did it. Partly because of that scene with the firecracker kid back in Naples, but before he'd come to the US, Furio had made a point to not hit women unless absolutely necessary. For example, a woman with borrowed power, like his cousin Annalisa. _You play with fire, Annalisa,_ thought Furio grimly, _don't cry when you get burned sooner or later._

But when Tony had told him in the car that the brothel owner's wife was part of the problem, there'd been no mistaking the implicit order beneath the words. Furio never allowed himself to feel empathy or remorse when he carried out orders, but that said nothing about the gnawing guilt that plagued him after. Almost every Mafioso, except for the most hardened of sociopaths, had at one point experienced dreams that went beyond the normal definition of "nightmare". Furio was no exception. After twenty years in organized crime, sleep of the just was no more than a sweetly nostalgic idea to him. He sighed and rose from the table.

Back at the apartment, Frankie had long since made a return trip to Adrian's for her luggage. She'd bid him farewell and made a promise to have lunch sometime next week, and hunted around for jobs until she found one waitressing at a café. She'd celebrated by grocery shopping, and as of now she was stirring up some _arrabiata_ sauce to go with some fresh risotto for two. She was thinking about the capicol' she'd gotten at a place called Satriale's when the lock clicked and Furio strode in.

"Hey Furio," she said, pouring him a glass of red wine. "You hungry?"

As it turned out, he was starving. "It smells like heaven."

She laughed. "Yeah, right."

As she raised her own glass for a toast – "To apartments." "_Buon anime_." – Furio tried to remember the last time a woman had cooked for him, and was forced to conclude that the last real time – other than _comares_ trying to produce breakfast after one-night-stands – was 3 years ago, the last time he'd gone to visit his sister.

"Sorry about the wine, it's kind of cheap," said Frankie remorsefully. He didn't mind, it was better, at any rate, than whatever Silvio usually kept on hand. He took a seat and reflected that Frankie looked completely at home in the kitchen. He had a vision of her suddenly, in her own home, with a couple of children running around her feet as she cooked. Just as suddenly, the vision was gone. He must have been looking at her strangely, because when he met her gaze she smiled a little uneasily and went back to stirring the _arrabiata._

Furio suddenly remembered he hadn't changed his shirt. Luckily it was dark, so if there was blood it didn't show. He headed for his room, and as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, Frankie couldn't help but watch from the corner of her eye. _I hope I don't fall for him,_ she thought, unaware that she already had. She smiled at her own folly and turned back to the pasta.

When he returned, Frankie turned around and her eyes widened as they fell upon Furio's hand. The knuckles were raw, bloody and bruised, and just now she noticed what looked like an old cut on his forearm.

"Oh my God, what happened to you?" She rushed forward and picked up his hand to examine it with an expression of dismay.

Furio thought quick. "I caught my hand in door. Is no big problem." _Merde_. What a dumb story. No way she'd believe that. But apparently she didn't notice the discrepancy between the injury and the supposed incident, for Frankie only clucked sympathetically and led him into the bathroom, where she produced rubbing alcohol almost magically and began to clean up the injuries.

Furio winced. "What was that for?"

"So it don't get worse. What, you don't have rubbin' alcohol in Italy?"

"Only alcohol I ever hear of is for drinking. Try with sambuca, probably make me feel a lot better." She laughed.

She carefully bandaged each knuckle, and as he felt her small hands on his larger ones, Furio felt an unexpected warmth. A lot of people stayed away when they first met him. Not this girl though, she wasn't keeping at an arm's length. Even the_ comares_ he sometimes fooled around with, they always acted fake, like everything was rehearsed beforehand. But there was something about Frankie that was completely flesh-and-blood, a breath of fresh air.

_First __she cooking, now she's being nurse, _he grinned to himself. _I can get used to this. _

It was late afternoon, and the best of the sunlight had gone from the water on the harbor. The diamonds still sparkled on the surface, but they were dimmer now, and the fish weren't jumping anymore. It was time to go home. On his walk, Furio passed by all the places he'd frequented as a child. The bakery his uncle had operated. His friend Marco's house, right next to his. They'd gone to school together in the mornings. He passed by his father sunning himself on a park bench and all was forgiven. It was as if he'd never been thrown out of his house, as if his father had never withdrawn into himself after his mother's death. The two men nodded to each other, and the set was just starting to set as Furio walked up the steps of the house of his childhood. He smelled his mother's _arrabbiata _wafting out of the windows. Except something was different…it wasn't his mother's anymore. He walked into the living room, and the feeling of coming home was stronger than ever. There was his _nonna_, who he hadn't seen in years, sitting on the couch just as he remembered. Two little boys with messy hair and his blue eyes were showing her a puppy they'd brought home. When she saw him she stood up slowly, her eyes shining with that familiar warmth. She picked up a red rose from a vase on the table and arranged it in his buttonhole.

"The good luck that has been overdue has finally come," she told him. "Now you don't have enough rooms in your house for everybody."

And somehow he knew, when he walked into the kitchen, that it would be Frankie standing over the stove and not his own mother. She turned at the sound of his footsteps and smiled.

"You're home early," she said.

And somehow he knew, as he bent to kiss her, that she would smell like roses…

Furio woke with a start just in time to hear the door close as Frankie left for work. But the smell of the hot coffee she'd left by his bed was, at that moment, just as beautiful as roses.

Over the next few days, Furio and Frankie fell into an unspoken tradition of having dinner together. It started becoming the high point of Furio's day – partly because she was such a good cook, and partly because being around Frankie made him relaxed, and "relaxed" and "Furio Giunta" were rarely in the same sentence. One night, over _zuppa di minestrone_ and veal _piccata_, Frankie told him she really liked having someone to cook for.

"Back at home, I got a big family, but my ma and my aunts always insist on doing all the cookin'. It's frustrating. Used to cook for my ex-boyfriend, but I don't think he'd know the difference between chicken _fra diavolo_ and KFC if it came up and bit him in the ass."

Furio grinned. "That why you no see him anymore?"

Frankie shook her head and sighed. "No, it was because eventually he decided he didn't like girls as much as guys. I tried not to get mad at him – I mean, he's not supposed to be able to help it, but…" She looked imploringly at Furio. "You know."

"Crazy _stronzo_," he muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Hmm?" Furio looked up at her. "Just saying, you know, this guy must be some kind of asshole if he no appreciate you. Is terrible. Of course, I no understand the, uh, how you say." He waved a hand in the air. "_Finocchio_." He raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"Yeah. I don't think he ever missed my cooking. That's the worst thing, almost. The coop de grass."

Eventually he heard her whole life story – starting with how her father had left when she was born and how she'd never known him in her first 6 years of life, how he'd come back when she was in the 2nd grade, begging for forgiveness. He'd waited outside their duplex for a week straight, never moving, until finally her mother broke down and let him in. A very romantic story, Furio thought. He hoped she wouldn't ask him too many questions – it would be hard to give satisfactory answers.

Eventually she did, though. "Well, I was born in Napoli. It was my mother who left, she died when I was 11. My dad kick me out of house then– said I old enough to take care of self. I did, too, lots of different ways. When I was 16, I met a man who became like father to me. Took care of me, showed me how to do things. Got me my first real job – I work on fishing boat for a while. He travel some, I follow him around. Got to see a lot of Italy. I never finish school, but I teach myself many things. English language, for example."

"How old were you?"

"Thirty."

"I guess I'm not too old to learn Italian."

"This you want to learn? Really?"

"Yeah," she said, "I've been meaning to for a long time, never did."

"I teach you then." Furio smiled.

She poured another round of wine to celebrate it. As they made a toast, she noticed a stiffness in Furio's shoulders.

"Somethin wrong with your back?"

Furio looked at her. "Yeah, had to do some heavy lifting other day. Still hurts like _bastardo_."

Without a word Frankie began to massage his back, trying to rub the pain out. Her little hands were surprisingly strong. Furio groaned.

"You are like angel from heaven," he said gratefully.

"I wish," Frankie grinned.

"Really. You always seeming to take care of me."

Frankie shrugged. "It makes me happy." She finished massaging his shoulders and sat down next to him.

"I should be the one taking care of you." She looked into the Italian man's eyes, and saw they were wistful all of a sudden. He reached out and stroked her cheek gently. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something when he decided against it, smiled, and ruffled her hair.

"I am going outside for a few minutes, I be back shortly."

He got up and left the apartment, pulling out a cigarette as he did so. Frankie felt a complete longing for him as he left, yet now she knew he had some kind of feelings for her. _I'm so confused!_ she thought. The wine had made her sleepy, and she shuffled into her bedroom and collapsed.

Sunday morning found Frankie at work at the little café where she'd taken over her friend Sheila's old job a few days ago. Four days she worked a morning shift, and two she worked in the late evening and night. She vastly preferred the mornings – in the evenings the business slowed down and the clientele consisted mostly of couples seeking an "Italian experience" and guys from the neighborhood taking over a corner and proceeding to get drunk at a maddeningly slow pace.

Frankie was not, by nature, an early riser. When her alarm had gone off that morning she'd felt awful, certain that Furio had been awakened as well. But when she'd checked in on him he was sleeping like a rock, and her guilt had abated. She couldn't really explain it to herself even, but something about Furio awakened some kind of caretaking urge in her. Anyone else who knew him would probably think she was off her rocker, since he seemed so completely in control. But, still…

At the moment, she couldn't feel better. Even though she'd had to be at work at six, she felt particularly alive this morning. Perhaps it was due to the six complimentary espressos she'd had so far, courtesy of Angelo the bartender. Three young men were sitting on a bench outside, smoking cigars and chorusing compliments to the girls that walked by. Across the street, at St. Agrippina's, people were just getting out of church. It was a cool day, and there had been a slight shower earlier which left the sidewalk damp, but now there was only one cloud to be seen, tiny and high up.

Frankie took an order from two older women and as Angelo whipped up the espressos, she let her mind wander back to the night before and what had possibly been going through Furio's mind – she wasn't so sure he had any feelings for her as she'd been last night – when she heard his name mentioned very quietly from a corner.

"I'm gonna have to tell Ton' I gotta borrow Furio tonight." The speaker was a older guy in a blue jumpsuit, his dark hair heavily streaked with grey at the temples. He spoke with a slight reservation.

"The _zip_? How come? Can't you just go alone?" Another man, this one slightly better-dressed, leaned forward. His hair was slicked back with considerable amounts of pomade.

"Hey, don't question your superiors." Mr. Jumpsuit was getting cagey.

"I heard Tony say he was gonna visit Cieffo tonight. You know he likes to bring Furio…" A gigantic guy with a sweet face spoke up somewhat shyly.

"Bobby, shut your trap. Cieffo can wait, this can't. Ton' owes me, after the business with Chris…" Mr. Jumpsuit made a dismissive gesture.

"Cieffo can wait, huh?" The pomade guy looked pissed off. "You should watch your mouth, Paulie. People might start to think you don't give a shit about anybody but yourself."

There was silence for a while.

Mr. Jumpsuit looked agonized. "Okay, Silv…yeah, maybe I should just go alone. That _zip_'s great company though, you know?"

The pomade guy laughed. "Fallin' in love with him, Paulie?"

Paulie growled. "Don't fucking joke about that shit, asshole."

Frankie was busy washing dishes with her back turned to them so they wouldn't be able to tell she was listening. Thoughts raced inside her head. Were they even talking about the same Furio? They had to be; they'd been calling him a _zip_, hadn't they? Bunch of fucking gentlemen. Frankie knew what they were; she'd been around enough of that stuff back in Bensonhurst. Thankfully nobody from her own family had found it necessary to cheat their way up the financial ladder. Her ancestors had put in excruciating eighty-hour weeks for decades and now, nobody could kick it out from under them. Nobody could take away the dignity they'd preserved.

Briefly she was surprised they'd been even talking inside the café, then it hit her they hadn't actually been saying anything; to a Fed, they might have been making plans for football night. Now that she was faced with it, it made sense that Furio was part of their thing. Incredibly it didn't make her think any less of him; he wasn't a greedy bastard like the rest of them. She began to wonder what he did, then rapidly pushed the thoughts out of her head. She was jerked out of her reverie by Paulie's voice.

"'Ey, waitress. The check."

She brought it over to them, smiling vacuously.

"You lookin' for another job?" It was Silvio.

For a moment she was bewildered. "Uh, no, I'm all set with this one, pretty much."

"Nice accent, you from Brooklyn?" It was said as a statement; she nodded. Silvio pulled a business card from his breast pocket and handed it to her. "In case you ever change your mind. Pays well."

She took a look at the card and forced herself to smile at him; it felt incredibly fake. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind. Have a good one."

Silvio nodded; Bobby left some cash on the table and they all left. Frankie counted the money; they'd left her a tip twice the size of the order. She retreated to the corner and took a closer look at the business card. It said "Bada Bing!" with an address, fax number, and a picture of a naked woman in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. Frankie supposed she should be flattered but she just felt unhappy.

She took a new order.

"Angelo, I need two cappuccinos, loaded."

"This early? Comin' right up."

"Hey, Angelo." She leaned in closer, so only he could hear her. "You know those three guys that were just in here?"

A troubled look darkened his open face. "What about 'em?"

"They come in here a lot? You know anything about them?"

She could feel Angelo's brown eyes boring into her. "Why? They didn't bother you, did they?"

"No." She sighed. "I just noticed they were talking about this guy I know."

"He connected?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"Don't worry about it. You don't got nothing to fear from these guys, long as you and your guy mind your own business. Don't tell 'em I said this, but all of 'em – Paulie specially – they're deadbeats. Small-time windbags. Waste a fuckin' air. Like I say, don't worry, but keep on their good side. Hey, why I'm tellin' ya this, you're from Bensonhurst. That's all I'm gonna say about it. Omerta, you know. Shh."

Angelo grinned and rubbed her shoulder. Frankie gave him a crooked smile. She wished Furio wasn't involved with this. Maybe the man who'd saved him from the streets in his youth had been worth something, but these lowlifes…Furio was better than that, she knew.

Frankie wasn't really expecting Furio to come home that night, since she had it from a first-hand source that he would be expected elsewhere; she was still fixing dinner for two in case he did come back, a simple _minestra_ with spaghetti _puttanesca_. At around 7:30, however, she did hear his footsteps in the hall.

"Hey," she said as he came inside. "How was your day?"

"I just get good news. Friend of mine from Naples, he's gonna come to the States to live." He sounded very pleased. "His name Marco, we grow up together."

"Honestly?" Frankie turned around. "That's great, what brings him here?"

"His mother just die. He got no reason to stay in Napoli," Furio explained, "so he come here. Always dreamed about it. I love him like brother. I want you to meet him someday." With that, Furio poured some wine.

"It seems like we're always celebratin' something these days," said Frankie. She was happy because Furio was happy – she could see, even from just him talking about it, that he really did love Marco.

"_La vita e bella_," Furio agreed, as he turned on the radio. The strains of a half-familiar song started up, and Frankie wondered where she'd heard it before.

"Ain't that the guy everybody's goin' crazy about these days? Bocelli something?"

Furio shrugged. "All I say is, much better than most of crap Americans listen to."

"Hey!"

He smiled, those blue eyes twinkling, pulled her close, and started dancing with her. "You know I no talking about you. You special."

_His hands are really warm_, Frankie thought drowsily. It was like her capacity for intelligent thought had been short circuited the instant he'd put his arms about her waist. She relaxed and her arms came to his shoulders, and the fact they were in a sparse apartment in an aggressively charmless neighborhood in a place where the tide turned black somedays dropped away, and nothing seemed to matter anymore except that they were dancing close to each other. _I'd go anywhere with him._

Bocelli sang, and Frankie could understand only a few of the words. "What does it mean, Furio?"

It was easy enough to translate, or would have been if Furio hadn't been dizzy from having her so close.

_A volte il cuore_

_Di voi madonna angelica_

_Mi inchiude la magia_

"My angelic lady, sometimes my heart warns me you casting spell over me," Furio murmured.

Frankie lifted her head, and her eyes met his. It was like a dream, and he could not look away from those darkly beautiful green eyes, heavy-lidded and beseeching.

_Non v'accorgete dunque voi_

_D'un tal che muore_

_Di una simile agonia_

"You the only person I need." His arms tightened around her waist, as if to tell her she wasn't going anywhere soon. "How can you no realize, somebody dying of the same agony?"

A thrill went through her. How could it be her heart was beating both too fast and too slow?

No, more like sleepwalking. If she'd asked Furio his name, he wouldn't be able to tell her. All Frankie knew was that they were both in something too deep for either one to understand. And neither one needed to. Everything was all right.

_Se dir vorreste voi ch'io sia_

_Qualunque io saro..._

They were moving closer, almost imperceptibly. Frankie's full lips were parted invitingly.

"Only tell me who is you want me to be," Furio whispered, "then I will be that man."

Frankie closed her eyes, and he leaned forward.

"Already I can no stop myself…"

At that moment, Furio's cell phone chose to ring. Reluctantly coming out of his daze, he let his forehead fall against Frankie's. "This I have to answer."

Once more, he listened intently as the voice on the other line gave orders, his free hand still lingering on Frankie's waist. "Five minutes, I'm there." He hung up and sighed, meeting Frankie's eyes once more.

"I gotta go." She still looked utterly bewildered, but as she looked at Furio her face broke out in a beautiful slow smile.

"I'll be here when you get back."

And Furio never realized, until he heard them, that they were the words he'd been waiting for his whole life. He didn't trust himself to say anything.

He leaned forward and kissed the nape of her neck tenderly, and before another thought could pass, he was out the door and into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

"This is the situation," said Tony Soprano, lighting up a cigar in the back room of the Bing. "Marty Cieffo fucked up. He married Nicola Dante, the sister of our friend here," he indicated Silvio, who nodded. "…and now he likes to use her as a punching bag. To such an extent that Silvio will no longer be an uncle. So we're gonna go over there. Teach him a little lesson. Any questions?"

Furio had none.

"I want to leave him with one ball. One ball only," growled Silvio, holding up a finger for emphasis.

"You gonna have to do that part you self," Furio replied. Everyone chuckled. "I no going near that."

As he and Tony drove towards their destination, Furio found himself pondering the moralistic implications of what they were about to do.

"Eh, Tony."

"Yeah?"

"Is the wife gonna be there?"

"I imagine so. Yeah."

The Napoletan felt a slight misgiving. Would Tony think he was going soft? "Is ok if we go in back, get her out there before we fix Marty?"

Tony didn't answer for a short time. When Furio glanced at him, Tony was regarding him with an odd expression on his face. He suddenly looked a lot more approachable.

"Yeah, of course." Another pause. "Anything new goin' on in your life, Furio?"

Furio smiled. You had to give Tony credit; he was a lot smarter than he looked. "Yeah, you can say that maybe. I let you know how it turn out."

They parked two houses down, and double checked the back door for alarm systems before sliding the lock open with a void credit card. The happy couple was home; that was ascertained by the TV blasting in the other room. The back door opened onto the kitchen, where a woman was busy washing dishes, her back to them, not aware that she had company. In a split second Furio took it all in – the wallpaper, which the woman had probably spent a long time deciding on, ripped deliberately in some places and peeling in others. The table, which looked like a family treasure, now with a broken leg held together with duct tape. The way the woman was trying to wash the dishes mostly one-handed because her right arm was in a splint. How the way she tilted her head reminded him of Frankie…and the hitman felt more than enough cold fury to finish the job.

He strode forward silently, covering the woman's mouth with one hand while gently seizing her wrist in the other.

"Don't say nothing or make no sudden moves and everything will be okay. We here for you husband, no you." She was still and he trusted her not to say anything. He turned her around. Her blackened eyes were wide and fearful. "You gonna wait outside with my friend until everything safe for you. You understand?"

She nodded. Then said hoarsely, "Please don't."

Furio led her to the door where Tony was waiting. He could shut her up if he had to. "Has to be done. Maybe you want some kids someday, no?"

Just before he turned to go back in the house, he caught a glimpse of a bruise along her jaw that was so dark it was almost black. He closed the door behind him.

In what passed as the living room, Marty hadn't heard anything. When the kitchen lights went off, he felt a surge of anger rise in him.

"What did I tell you about turning lights on and off when I'm watching the game?!" he yelled.

Silence.

Marty would have noticed the trace of cologne in the air if he hadn't been drunk. He felt hungry now. He muted the game. "Hey, you cunt, get me - "

A fist to the side of his head finished the sentence for him. He collapsed on the sofa, felt himself being lifted up again, and another fist crashed straight into his face. He remained on his feet, but where his nose had been there was nothing but a pulpy mass now.

Marty tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes. "Leave me alone! I'll give you whatever you want, just go away!" He backed away from the assailant, his hands out in vague protection.

The intruder – a tall, dangerous looking man in a leather jacket just laughed and pushed his hands aside. "Real fucking diplomat now, eh?" He slapped Marty viciously. "What happen to the big man who can break his little wife's arm all by his self?"

Marty couldn't back up any more. He ducked and ran to the opposite side of the room before remembering there were no doors there.

"Shit, it's about Nicky, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, it was just one time - "

"Hey." The man was in front of him now. "Look at me." He lifted up Marty's chin so their eyes met. The coldness Marty saw there was chilling.

"Do I look like I fucking care for your excuses?!" The man seized a poker from the fireplace and swung it around and up. Marty crumpled in a heap against the wall; his jaw was broken neatly in two. The dark man kicked him again and again, until his ribs felt like powder, then calmly drew his gun.

The bits of Marty that could still function panicked. "I'll do whatever you say! Please, dear Jesus above, don't fucking kill me, please…I'll never hit my wife again…"

Marty was sobbing and clinging onto the man's leg. The hitman kicked him off, then knelt so he could look into Marty's eyes.

"You damn right you never hit her again."

Marty nodded.

"You know what else? You gonna turn you self into police. You gonna tell 'em whole story. You gonna divorce her, and you gonna sign over all you belongings to her. And after you get out prison, you gonna disappear."

The only sound in the room was Marty's ragged breathing.

"You understand, you piece of shit?"

Marty nodded fervently. The stranger smiled.

"Good. I believe you. But…just to make sure…"

The enforcer drew his gun. Marty tried to scream but it caught in his throat. He would die now, he was sure. He could only shut his eyes and wait.

A weird fast sound and an explosion of pain in Marty's knee told him he was still alive.

"Have a nice fucking day."

With a final kick at Marty's prone body, Furio turned and left the room.

When Furio reappeared outside, Tony released Nicola. She hesitated at the door, looking back at Furio as if daring him to tell her the worst.

"Go inside, he still alive. Last time you gonna have to clean up, I promise you!"

"So then he turns around and goes, 'that's the last time you're gonna have to clean up!' You shoulda seen the guy when we were through with him."

Back at the Bing, Tony was happily recounting the tale to Silvio, sparing no bloody detail.

"I wanna tape of that story," said Silvio, "so I can listen to it every night before I go to sleep."

"Happy fuckin' dreams," Paulie concluded.

"Justice," Christopher announced, "has been served. Oh!" He poured everybody more rum; he himself wasn't drinking too much. During the last hour or so he'd been at the white powder instead. At some point during the evening he'd managed to get Bacardi all over the front of his green pinstriped shirt. After some halfhearted mopping, he said "fuck it" and put the bottle away.

Furio, meanwhile, was quietly chainsmoking at the end of the table as he stared at nothing in particular. His thoughts were far away. He was feeling a terrible resurgence of guilt all of a sudden…and it was a long time since Furio had felt sorry for anything he'd done.

What if the brothel owner's wife had been pregnant? It was unlikely, of course, but anything was possible. That would make him just as bad as Marty. He really didn't have any place taking vengeance when, all told, he was probably worse of a scum than any of the people he dealt with on a regular basis. He imagined what Frankie would think if she knew what he did – what he'd done – and hated himself even more.

He wasn't drinking tonight. At least one thing could be said for Mrs. Giunta's boy: he never took it easy on himself.

As Furio quietly tried to unravel the interlinked mystery of men, women, and rage, Christopher decided that now seemed like the perfect time to collect his protection money from Piccinelli's Bakery.

"Can I borrow your car?" Christopher asked Furio. "Vin's got mine, I have to collect from - "

"How much you drink?" Furio interrupted.

"Not that much," said Christopher. "Watch." He walked in an impressively straight line.

"Yeah, sure," said Furio. "Leave it here when you get back, I probably be gone by then."

"Don't go just yet," said Tony. "We gotta discuss Razzy Polmene."

After one more furtive trip to the bathroom, Chris was coked out of his mind and ready to go.

Back at the apartment, Frankie had slipped outside to make a call to her mother. The house phone rang several times before she heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ma, it's me."

"Francesca! You haven't called me in a while, I was starting to get worried."

"It's been a day, Ma. How are you?"

"I've been better, I tell you that much. There was a sale at Filene's Basement today, I got a bunch of pantyhose. Next time you're here remind me to give you some."

"Thanks Ma."

"That reminds me, that Neil boy was around here again. Said he wanted to talk to you. He didn't know you were outta town."

"If he comes by again, tell him I don't wanna talk to him ever."

"Okay. How's your work goin' over there?"

"Oh, it's wonderful. I made almost a hundred dollars in tips yesterday."

"A hundred dollars! Wait'll I tell your father, he'll be so proud. Wow, a hundred dollars! And how is the room situation?"

Frankie laughed. "It's fine, Ma. The guy I'm sharing the apartment with is really nice. You'd like him."

"How old?"

"I'd say about thirty five, thirty seven. Why?"

"Can't a woman be curious these days? Anyway, I know you can take of yourself."

"Thanks, Ma."

"You can do a whole lot better than that Neil boy. I always said he was a bastard to you."

"You were right, Ma."

"Oh, Francesca, I gotta go, your father and I are going to this thing. Shakespeare in the Park."

"Yeah? Tell me how it is. Bye, Ma."

"Bye bye, Francesca. I love you."

"Love you too, Ma."

She lit up a cigarette. It wasn't supposed to be a very dangerous neighborhood.

Christopher turned onto 19th Ave in Paterson. It wasn't that far from his destination, and he'd heard Furio was living here. He couldn't help but be curious about the man – although he'd known him for years, he was still as good as a complete stranger in most ways. It wasn't a very pretty street, but it was okay.

He drove slowly past the apartment building, missing his girl, when a movement caught his eye. By the glare of a streetlamp, he could see a girl leaning against the side of the brick building, smoking. And did she look good, especially since his girl was out of town.

Christopher was on one of those highs where it seemed like you could do anything. It seemed like everything was pre-planned, and he wasn't really thinking. Otherwise he would never have parked the car, never would have gotten out, never would have done what he did.

"Hey, baby."

The young man had appeared mysteriously from the street. She watched him mistrustfully. He was well-dressed, wearing a green pinstriped silk shirt. Dark eyes. There was something wrong with him, though. He looked high or something. She watched him and said nothing.

"You waiting for anyone?"

"Yeah."

She realized with a sinking feeling that the only way to get back in the building was to the front, past this guy. She'd have to pray he left her alone.

"Who?"

"My boyfriend. Excuse me. I have to get back inside."

As she tried to move past him he blocked her.

"You're lying," he said without accusation. "What's the matter, you don't like me?" His eyes were definitely weird. Frankie had him figured for coke.

She gave up trying to get past him. He wasn't tall and strong like Furio, but he was still bigger than her.

"I like you," he said softly. Without warning, his mouth was on hers. She backed away instinctively, but she hit a wall and now he had her pinned to the wall. Frankie's heart was beating a mile a minute – he'd forced his tongue inside her mouth, and she had no idea how to get away. She had to get away.

The minute the man's hands were occupied, tearing off her shirt, Frankie made a run for it. She ducked under his hands and bolted for the street.

She'd almost made it when hands grabbed her from behind. She tried to scream, but 19th Ave was completely deserted and his hand came to stifle her cries before she could get another one out.

The stranger dragged her behind the building. Frankie tried to grab at something, anything to stop him, but he was too strong. She clawed at his hands and face, and tried to bite but he wouldn't let go of her. He shoved Frankie against some cement stairs, and her head made contact. She felt blood running down her neck but she was too shocked to feel pain.

"Why do you have to make it hard for me?" he asked. He straddled her and held her arms down roughly. She kept struggling to get away. "We could have had a nice time, but now…" He seemed genuinely confused about why she didn't want to be with him.

"Please," said Frankie. She could barely get her voice out. "Don't do this. Please find another girl who wants you. Please don't do this to me."

"You don't like me?"

She said nothing. Behind him, above a rusted chain link fence, the moon was watching silently. It was only a sliver now, like a banana.

The man hit her with a closed fist. None of her teeth were broken, but she felt her lip split. He hit her again, and now the pain was coming hard and fast, around her eye.

"You think you can tell me what to do?" He ripped her jeans off. "Nobody tells me what to do." He was unzipping his own pants. Frankie tried to scream for help again, one last time, but he slapped her before she could get it out.

"Just be a good girl for me…" He entered her hard, and as she felt something break inside of her, Frankie bit her lip to keep from screaming again. There was a sudden flood of pain inside her.

"No, no…" she sobbed hysterically. But he wouldn't stop. He seemed to get off on her pain, and his thrusts came faster and harder. Tears were running down her face now, and she prayed for it to be over so she could just die.

"Say you love me," he said hoarsely. The expression in his eyes was terrible. He wasn't so high that he didn't know he was torturing her. But he loved having this power…

"No," she said. _I would rather die._

"Say it," he hissed, "or I'll kill you when I'm done." The night was cold, and a freezing wind blew over them.

"Never."

As he came, he swore and grabbed her breasts so hard she almost screamed again from the agony.

"Oh…fuck…" Finally it was over. He pulled out of her and zipped his pants again.

_Now he's going to kill me._

He stood for a moment, like he didn't know what to do. Finally, he just kicked her in the ribs a couple times and walked off.

The pain was so bad that Frankie passed out for an hour.

Christopher drove off like the Devil himself was after him. After a long time he slowed down, breathing heavily, and came to a stop by the side of the road.

He couldn't believe it. What he'd just done. What would the guys say? The police? What would happen to him? Oh _fuck_…

He couldn't tell anyone. She hadn't seen the car. He could just drop it back at the Bing. The car wasn't the problem.

Still coked out of his mind, he tried to tell himself there was nothing to worry about. She didn't know him, he fit the description of countless other guys…there was nothing to worry about.

He breathed deeply. But there was.

Christopher Moltisanti wasn't a rapist. Right?

He swore again loudly and drove the car back in the direction of the Bing.


	4. Chapter 4

Furio left the Bing at around 11:30. It was a 15-minutes walk back, and as he walked he thought about Frankie. She made him want to be a better person for her, except he wasn't too sure how to go about it. He could never confess all his sins to a priest. Perhaps taking care of people like Marty Cieffo was supposed to be his way of making up, but it didn't seem like the heaviness of his soul could ever be lifted. Maybe by now Frankie had already changed her mind about him, maybe she'd seen somehow that he was worthless. Part of him hoped she would. The thought was sobering, but he did want her to be happy. She would probably be better off without him.

He passed a nightclub that looked to be in full swing. Outside a young couple was kissing passionately. Ten, fifteen years ago that might have been him, but he'd already spread his wild oats, and unlike some other older guys – Ralphie Cifaretto, for example – he was ready to settle down. Furio was tired. The life he led did not leave him happy, but there didn't seem to be a way out.

He reached the apartment building on 19th Ave. As he started to unlock the door he heard a noise from around the side of the building and spun around instinctively, drawing his gun.

The noise was like a shuffling, and Furio from extensive experience instantly recognized it as the sound of an injured person trying to walk. He looked around the corner.

It was Frankie, and somebody had really worked her over. Her jeans were torn up, and there was not much left of her shirt. Her eyes were fixed on the ground as she tried to walk, and a hand on the wall barely kept her from falling over.

"Frankie…_Dio mio_.…" Furio was already at her side. He held her up carefully, trying to avoid any of her many injuries.

Finally she saw him, her eyes focusing on his face. "Furio…?" Apparently just then the last of her strength failed her, and she fainted dead away in his arms.

Once they were back in the apartment, he put her down on his bed. He could barely think straight, he was so upset. Who would do this? Who could beat up a helpless girl, one who had done absolutely nothing? He could only hope it was just a beating, that no-one had done anything further to her.

He got a wet dish towel and tried to clean up her face. Whoever had attacked her had split her lip pretty bad. The area around her right eye was badly bruised. She was too pale.

He noticed blood down the back of her neck. Something had happened to her head. Carefully he checked her skull for injuries and indeed there was one at the back. It felt like maybe the skull was cracked. He swore at himself for leaving her, and as he tried to clean up the blood, Frankie came round again.

"Furio?" Those green eyes again, wide as ever.

He was furious with himself for failing to protect her, but he tried to sound calm for her. "Don't try to talk, Frankie. I take care of everything."

"I'm fine, don't worry about me…" She tried to sit up, but he held her down gently.

"No, you not fine. Somebody hurt you pretty bad. What happen?" He'd just noticed her ribs. There was bruising around them in the stomach area, and when he carefully felt her ribcage, he knew two of them were broken, some others cracked.

"I was outside…this guy came off the street, and he kissed me. I tried to get away but he made me go behind the building…" She couldn't hold back the sobs any longer, and turned away from Furio. She couldn't deal with him looking at her so worried and kind and upset.

She was crying now, and Furio had no idea what to do.

"I was saving myself for marriage…" She moaned, and the sound tore at his heart. The worst that he'd feared had been true. The anger washed over him in a cold wave. He stormed from the room.

From the bedroom Frankie heard Furio swearing in Italian. She winced at a splintering crack, and she guessed that he'd put his fist through the wall.

Outside, Furio collapsed against the door. He had no idea why he was reacting like this. But a part of himself was angry at the unknown man for defiling her, his angel. She was his. It seemed like a law of the universe all of a sudden.

Finally Furio returned with a glass of water for Frankie and some aspirin. She was still sniffling but she seemed better.

"Take these. Can you drink?" She nodded. He sighed and sat down at the end of the mattress. He needed to call her an ambulance, a doctor, something.

"Did you get to see what does he look like?"

She nodded. "He was about my height, maybe a little taller. A few years older than me. Dark hair, dark eyes."

"What was he wearing?"

"A green shirt. It was pinstriped or something, silk I think."

A kind of disbelieving horror settled on Furio. _It can't be Christopher. He would no do something like this._

But as Frankie kept describing his face, Furio became more and more certain it was him. "What else?"

"I think he was on coke," said Frankie. She sounded exhausted. "But I'm not sure. Are you okay? You seem…upset."

Furio didn't respond for a few moments. He was deliberating how much to tell her. He was sure it was Christopher now – he knew the kid had been doing coke before he'd left. Finally he took a deep breath and took her hand. She just looked at him, her eyes clouded with trouble.

"I need to tell you some things, and I need to know that you will no be telling anyone else."

Frankie held his hand in both of hers. He was so warm. "I promise."

He sighed. "Ok. Is like this. This guy you describe. I know him. We work together." This was not easy. He could see the look on her face, how she was suddenly unsure he was on her side. Wondering what kind of person he must be.

"I think I know what kind of work you mean," she said slowly.

"What? How?"

"At the café where I work. I heard some guys talking today, they mentioned you."

"Did you hear they names?"

"Paulie and Silvio. And the third guy was Bobby, I think."

_Fucking idiot sons-of-bitches. _"Ok. So I think you know what I talking about." He paused. "So that mean, we no can go to police. If you describe this guy like you did to me, they put him away, and his friends will do something to you, make you change you mind about what happen. If I try to do anything, they kill me too, maybe. You know?"

Frankie nodded. Her eyes were bright with tears and she turned away again. "Fuck. Why does it have to be like this?"

Furio understood what she meant. They were unlucky. Star-crossed maybe.

"But Frankie. Listen to me." She looked at him again. He looked into her eyes and softly caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears. "That don't mean I let the _bastardo_ get away with it. I just gonna have to do it my way."

She shook her head. "No, please. I don't want you to get hurt. Please, Furio. Not for me. We can just try to forget about it."

"For me, there is no forgetting." He stroked her hair with feather-light touches. "Don't worry about. I get you doctor now." He stood up to leave.

"I thought you said that was impossible."

"Trust me. This doctor special, he fix me when I take bullet." He turned around. "One thing though."

"Yeah?"

"The way these guys mind work, there no reason to get involved unless there something official going on, _capisce_? So if I say you my girlfriend, is ok?"

She smiled crookedly. "Yeah. That would be nice, actually."

An inner leap of happiness. "Is deal."

"Wait, Furio, you got shot? Where?"

He pointed to his leg. "Here. I don't recommend it, no fun."

When he left, Frankie rolled over. The aspirin had helped the pain some, but she still hurt. She couldn't afford to think about what had happened right now. She had to stop replaying it in her head. How he'd defiled her. Yet, deep inside her, that unceasing pain would not let her forget.

Due to the sheer force of her exhaustion, she fell asleep almost instantly.

Tony Soprano was at home, reading in bed with Carmela when his phone rang. He saw the number and went into another room. Furio almost never called him, it was usually the other way around. It had to be something serious.

"Hey Tony."

"Furio, what's up?"

"I need a favor."

"Just ask."

"I need you to call doctor who fix my leg that time. Freid. I got problem."

"You okay?"

"Me, I'm fine. My girlfriend, no so good."

"Your girlfriend?" So that's what it was. "What happened to her?"

"Guy, uh, how you say…he force himself on her." Tony heard the strain in his hitman's voice. "He hit her too. I think it pretty bad."

Shit. "No problem, I'll call him right away. He'll be at your place soon, I'll make sure of that."

"Thanks, Tony."

He hung up. His heart went out to Furio. Something like that, that couldn't be easy.

When Furio returned, Frankie was already asleep. He felt like falling asleep himself. He had a seat on the floor with his back to the wall, watching her face as she slept.

_Ti amo_, he thought, but did not say out loud, and was immediately surprised he'd thought that.

Isn't it supposed to be different? he thought. Aren't you supposed to fall in love with someone you have a lot in common with? Someone you've known for a long time?

Maybe, but that did not change the fact that he and Frankie understood each other. You could go your whole life without finding one person who understands you. He felt as if he'd known Frankie his whole life.

She moved a little bit. Furio thought she was dreaming. She started to toss and turn.

"No…no!" She was talking in her sleep. Maybe she was reliving it? Furio caught her in his arms and tried to wake her up.

"I'd…rather…die!" She was trying to twist away from him.

"Frankie! Wake up, you dreaming!"

"Frankie!"

Suddenly she woke. She didn't recognize him for a moment and kept struggling. After a moment, though, she remembered who he was.

"Furio?" She collapsed on his shoulder and started crying. "I'm sorry…"

"Shh." He spoke to her soothingly, holding her trembling body tight. "It's okay. It's over."

"But…I'm not a virgin…anymore…" she gasped between sobs. "I wanted to wait…until I got _married_…but now…"

"It's okay. It don't matter, _mia cara_. It don't matter."

"I'm dirty now…thanks to him. Who'd…who'd _want_ me?" She shuddered again, and Furio held her even closer.

"I do," Furio said without thinking. "Do I still count?"

She raised her head slowly. "Are you…really?" Even though she'd just been crying, the expression in her eyes was unmistakable. _Please tell me the truth._

"Yes," he said softly. "Of course."

And that was all that needed to be said. He kissed her softly on the corner of her mouth. "Please don't worry. I take care of you."

Dr. Freid pronounced everything clear. He'd set Frankie's ribs and ordered her to keep as immobile as possible for the next two weeks. The trauma to her face was terrible, but nothing was broken there, thank God. The skull fracture looked bad, but there was no damage to the brain; thankfully it had not been too shattered. It still made him nervous.

"Are you absolutely sure that she can't go to an emergency room?" he asked the tall man who he'd treated for a bullet wound not that long ago.

"They ask questions about the rape, eh?"

"Yes."

"Is no option." Furio felt terrible for saying it, but the truth was, if Frankie went to the ER, the doctors would find some way of identifying the rapist, and then it would all be over for her.

Dr. Freid could tell there wasn't too much internal damage from the rape; most of the harm had been done psychologically. She seemed like such a nice girl. It was a shame these things happened.

"Want me to do a DNA test, get the results back to you privately?"

Furio did not completely trust the doctor, and he already knew who was responsible. "No."

Freid felt that all this mob stuff was taking it out of him. No matter how many times he told Tony Soprano that he could not keep doing this, he was still expected to be some kind of Florence Nightingale for what seemed like every single wounded goombah in Jersey. Now a girl had been raped, and it seemed like nothing would be done about it.

Dr. Freid was still a relative naïf.

He decided to run it by Frankie herself. He entered the bedroom one last time, where she lay looking as if she was about to pass out from exhaustion.

"Frankie?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to ask you a question."

"Go for it."

"Do you want me to do a DNA test on the semen? I can get the results back to you privately, if you have, uh, friends in forensics maybe…" He left the sentence unfinished, unsure.

She looked at him for a second, hopefully. She still hoped against hope that it wasn't Furio's associate who was responsible – the idea scared her. "Did you ask Furio?"

"Yeah. He said no go, but I thought the decision should be up to you, after all…"

She sighed, looking troubled. "I trust his judgement. Thank you for your help, doctor, I mean it. You've been so nice."

"Of course, my dear." This was different. During the day he wasted time on fucks too fat to get it up any more, at night sometimes he worked on guys like Furio, whose lives were often in danger but who knew what they had gotten themselves into and were unrepentant, but her…she was young enough to be his daughter, and she hadn't done anything at all…

He said goodbye in a voice that was weaker than it sounded, and headed for the door.

Furio stopped him. "She's gonna be okay?"

"Yes. Just make sure she moves around as little as possible. Check the ribs every day, if there's any trouble, call me. You have my number. And be careful of her head. Give her these pills, tonight and tomorrow morning."

"What for?"

"To prevent conception." Freid pretended not to see the murderous look that glimmered behind the man's eyes. He cleared his throat. "They're, ah, effective, but there is no guarantee that she won't get pregnant."

"Thank you, _dottore_." The Italian regarded him calmly in a way that made Dr. Freid feel like a bug under a microscope, then extended his hand. The doctor took it.

"How did that leg heal, anyway?"

"I just gotta scar."

After the doctor left, Furio gave her the medecine with a glass of water. By now the bruises showed in full color, a vivid blue-purple against the pale white of her skin. He sat down next to her, and as she leaned forward to reach the glass of water, her shirt fell open. She pulled it closed again, but not before he caught a glimpse of dark finger-shaped bruises around her breasts, creeping up from the edges of her bra.

Frankie looked at him and saw in his eyes a look of fury that stuck a note of cold dread within her heart. For one second it was as if she had never known him, and he remained the same silent, intimidating hitman she'd seen when he'd first opened the door.

Furio stood up abruptly, and turned to the door, not trusting himself to look at her.

"I give you different shirt, eh?"

"Thank you." she managed. There was so much she still didn't know about Furio, and it scared her. He was like that lake in Russia, sometimes. So many mysteries swimming around in its black depths.

He left. Pulling out a t-shirt from the trunk he had yet to unpack, his fury at Christopher flared up again. How dare he do this…to _her_? To the one person besides his mother Furio had ever felt the urge to protect?

He need to calm down. It would do her no good to see him like this...

At least she wasn't seriously injured. But she had still been violated, her defenses had been breached, and whose fault was that? Only his. He should have hurried back after the Cieffo business, done something…

And now, he had no idea how to undo the damage, how to make it better for her.

He brought her the shirt, which she accepted gratefully. He was back with her again. He still looked strained – she wished he wouldn't worry about her – but those blue eyes were only kind and protective now.

"You need to get some sleep now. You need anything?" He didn't want to leave her just yet though.

"No. Thanks."

He stood up to leave.

"Furio?" She sounded worried. "Um, would you mind staying with me just for tonight? I don't wanna be a bother but…"

"You no wanna be alone?" She nodded, grateful that he'd finished her sentence. "Of course, _cara_." _I no wanna be alone either_, he thought but did not say.

"Thanks, Furio." Their eyes met again, and as she looked up at him, a faint smile on those lips, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. But he knew he couldn't – not now. Furio took off his shirt and climbed into bed next to her.

She snuggled up to him, and he put his arms around her, pulling her close. Her smaller body fit perfectly against his strong frame – almost like they were made to be together. Furio felt like he was holding a doll, she seemed so battered and delicate. Her head came to rest on his chest. Her body seemed cold, and Furio hoped she would warm up. Her breath was warm on his skin though.

"'Night, Furio," she whispered exhaustedly.

"Good night, Frankie." He kissed the top of her head, and felt her smile against him.

In a few minutes she was breathing evenly. Furio noticed her hair smelled like roses.

"You awake? Frankie?" he said softly. No response.

"_Ti amo_."

He was content that she was safe, finally, and now that she was protected, so was he. Finally Furio slipped into a deep sleep, and if there were any dreams, he forgot them.

When Furio woke in the morning, he and Frankie were still tightly joined in the same position. The sunlight coming in the window off the street made her hair shine, made her smooth skin radiate. Her eyes were moving under her dark lashes. Furio let his head drop back and sighed. The only thing that made the idyllic picture uncomfortable was the hard-on he'd woken up with. Her breasts softly pressing against his side weren't going to just let it go away. Gently he detached himself from his companion without waking her and shuffled into the bathroom to take care of it.

Frankie stirred slightly at the loss of her warm bedfellow but did not wake.

After Furio had gotten his business done and brewed some coffee, he climbed back under the covers with her and she instinctively rolled over and snuggled against him once more.

She mumbled something he couldn't make out and moved again. Suddenly she seemed distressed although she was still asleep. She had to be dreaming again.

"Furio?" Her voice held panic.

For a second Furio was frozen. Was she actually dreaming about him?

"I'm right here. Frankie, wake up!" She was tossing and turning. He held her, trying to soothe her. "It's okay, Frankie, I'm here."

Her eyes opened and for a second she seemed totally disoriented, huge eyes staring at him in fear. Then she recognized him and collapsed into his strong arms. He held her tightly as her breathing slowed down. He could feel her heart beating against him, quick and frightened. Like a small bird he'd found injured on the street once in his early boyhood. He'd taken it home and tried to take care of it, for a week he had devoted himself to its care, but in the end it had died.

"Don't be scared, I'm right here," he told her again. Whispered against her hair that still shone in the sunlight. "_Sono qui con te, cara mia. Saro sempre qui."_

Her hands went around his shoulders and she lifted her head, gazing into his eyes. Her smooth face was streaked with tears. She seemed about to speak.

"Shh, _mia bellezza_. You no have to cry no more. It's all fine." He caressed her battered face soothingly, trying to search her eyes for the secret that would allow him to make it all better. Frankie crumpled against him once more, drawing great shuddering breaths as she tried not to cry.

For the next week, Furio stayed with her as much as he could. Tony Soprano seemed to understand his need to be near her, and got someone else to drive him around in the mornings. Furio thanked him for the tacit understanding in his heart; he was also grateful that because of his little 'vacation' he didn't have to be around Christopher.

Frankie slept a lot. The broken ribs were taking their toll, and she found little energy to stay awake. Something about Furio being near helped the dreams to fade away, but they came right back, torturing her, whenever he left her side. In the first few days Furio was afraid to leave her for even half an hour, but after a week or so, the dreams became less frequent and less regular.

By the fifth day she had regained some of her old self. Furio was checking her ribs like he did every day, to make sure that they were stitching back together right, when she suddenly spoke.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she told him tentatively. When he looked at her for an explanation, she went on. "Takin' care of me. I'm fine on my own."

Furio chuckled. "I'm no so sure about that."

"What I mean is, I guess, it's not your responsibility. I really appreciate you being so kind to me but I know you have other things to do." She paused for a moment, biting her lip nervously.

Furio thought for a moment. "I can't really think of something I rather be doing."

This was not the response Frankie had been expecting. She stared at him for a second, then burst out in a peal of laughter. "Very funny!"

Furio gave her one of his quizzical looks. "But I'm serious. I go away for half an hour, I have to come back. I worry to leave you alone."

Frankie kept her eyes on the floor. "Please don't worry about me. I feel terrible for bein' such a bother to you already."

The truth and what Frankie seemed to be thinking were so at odds that Furio felt like laughing. He put his hand on her arm gently but firmly.

"Look at me." She did. He went on hesitantly, telling her what had been on his mind the past few days. "You wanna know the truth? I take care of you right now, but you take care of me too, keep me company. When I leave here, it's like nobody is there even when there is people around, eh? But when I am here with you, even if you sleeping, you there. I can't really explain it…"

"No, I know what you mean." Her voice sounded small. Even though she'd been sleeping almost all the time, Frankie didn't get any real rest, and there were dark shadows around her eyes, which, combined with the bruises, gave her the look of some smudged charcoal drawing, a tired study for what would be a beautiful painting.

"Good! So, you know, if you want me to go off to work, leave you by you self, you outta luck. I think maybe…" Furio trailed off, leaving the thought unsaid.

"…we need each other now?" Frankie finished for him. And when she said it, it sounded so obvious. He shrugged, resigned, and nodded. "Yeah."

She suddenly threw her arms around him unexpectedly. He held her in silence, watching as motes of dust danced in the sunlight coming through the window.

"You're such a good person," she whispered to him, and even though Furio knew it wasn't true, a little redemptive light flickered within him for the remainder of that day.

Those days were a blur to Frankie. The little time she spent awake she felt confused, as if she was in a fever dream. When she was asleep, though, the memories came back, vivid and crystal clear. More lifelike than being awake. It reminded her of that old song by the Everly Brothers.

_When I want you in my arms_

_When I want you and all your charms_

_Whenever I want you_

_All I have to do is dream…_

It got so that she was afraid to sleep, but couldn't stay awake. Having Furio near her was the only thing that helped.

_I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine_

_Anytime night or day_

Feeling his arms around her at night, seeing the look in his eyes that was only understanding and protective. If she'd been more alert in those days, Frankie would have tried not to rely on him so much. But all her defenses had been completely shattered by the man who'd violated that deepest, most personal part of her. The man who still showed up almost every time she closed her eyes.

_Only trouble is, gee whiz_

_I'm dreaming my life away._

The song bounced around in her head. She wondered if she was awake or sleeping, gone or still here.

Furio pulled up outside Tony Soprano's house, so nervous that his hands would not move from the steering wheel. Finally he made himself get out of the car. It had been so long since he'd seen Carmela that she seemed unreal, kept alive only through memories and photographs. After time away from her, his feelings for her had faded, but they had left claw marks on his heart. He had never forgotten about her, how his life that year had been like living on a cliff edge. He would have died for her in an instant, a fact which he could barely believe now. Waiting for her to give the signal for him to give his life to her. He lit a cigarette as he shut the car door.

He worried about having to leave Frankie, but Tony needed him today to persuade a certain mayor of a certain city to change his viewpoint on a certain issue, or give his support to a certain cause, or something. Furio was out of the loop. He only hoped it would be over quickly. He had to come this time. Tony had been very generous for letting him off the hook this past week. Furio had heard through the grapevine something about a hit having been placed on his head shortly after he left the US. He didn't know whether Tony had any idea about him and Carmela – if he had, he couldn't justify a hit, since Furio had done nothing. At first he dreaded that Tony had finally remembered the last night they had spent together, Tony drunk out by the chopper. Furio had come within eight inches of killing Tony Soprano, but something had made him stop. Maybe it was the defenseless, confused look on Tony's drunk face as he found himself seized and pushed toward the powerful rotor blades. But that couldn't be it. If Tony suspected Furio had tried to kill him, there was no way that even the Vittorios could protect him.

Whatever it was, the hit had been decided in the heat of some strong emotion. It was forgotten by now.

Furio extinguished his cigarette with the heel of his boot and rang the doorbell of the Soprano household, standing in the exact same spot he'd waited all those mornings that year feeling like a 13 year old boy with a crush. Except now…

The door opened, and there she was. Looking exactly the same. Furio felt the old sorrow stir up in his chest once, wondering in spite of himself if they could have ever been happy. Everything was so familiar – the silk blouse she was wearing, her perfume, the hall in back of her. It was like coming home after a long time away, except it had never been his home, and never would be. When the Air Italia jet had pulled up from the ground the evening after the jinxed outing with Tony, it had hit him like a blow to the stomach that some things were simply impossible, and the last of his youth had left him.

It hit him again, looking at her. She was staring at him like she couldn't believe he was there.

"Furio?" It came out a whisper. "You're really back. Tony told me but…" She swayed slightly as if she would faint, and Furio moved forward to catch her, but she was all right.

"I'm sorry, Carmela. I should have said goodbye."

She seemed to recompose herself before his very eyes. When she looked up again she had the familiar unsinkable smile on her face. "That's okay, Fur'. I understand if you had to leave in a hurry, I just got kinda worried. Come in, come in, I'll fix you a coffee."

It had been easier than he'd expected, but in retrospect, most things were.

He lit up another smoke to settle his nerves. To his surprise Carmela did too. A lot of things had changed.

"So, Fur', tell me how you've been," she said conversationally, her voice shaking almost imperceptibly, as she set about fixing coffee. "Are you staying this time?"

"I dunno," he said. Carmela was still an incredible woman. That aura that was all her own, her way of being, her voice…if he'd had less self-control, Furio would have fallen for her all over again. He fought to suppress the flood of emotions that seeing her brought, and suddenly found himself thinking of Frankie. This time around he had something to anchor him. He had someone to get back to.

"How's it going with you and Tony?" _Merde._ Had he really just asked that? Where the hell had that one come from? Carmela seemed pleased that he'd asked, however.

"Oh, we've been great, just fine. I'm afraid last time you were here it didn't look too good. Tony was…well, it wasn't great, with me and him, but these days we're like this," and she crossed her manicured fingers. She gave him a sweet smile, and Furio understood that she was telling him he didn't need to worry about her. She was happy, finally, and he wasn't under any obligation to fulfill her life. Nor she to bring meaning to his. That was what had changed: they didn't need each other anymore.

"Fur', you okay? You seem kinda sad."

"It's nothing. You know."

The coffee was ready. Furio noticed that she'd made it 'the comforting way', with lots of milk and sugar.

"Tony told me. About your girlfriend. Terrible thing to happen." Furio looked up at her, shocked that she knew. Her look of sympathy was sincere. He was completely at a loss.

"Honestly, if there's ever anything at all that I can do, please give me a call. I'm not just saying that to be polite, I really wanna help if I can. Okay?" He nodded. Tony's familiar thunderous footsteps were plodding down the stairs. "You know, once she's feeling back up to snuff, we should all go to a concert maybe. I'd love to meet her."

Tony entered the room, gazed at them stupidly for a second like he always did, then made a beeline for the fridge.

"Hey you," he said by way of greeting to Furio.

"Ton', are there gonna be any good concerts happening this spring?" Carmela asked.

Tony pulled out some prosciutto and bread. "I think Jerry Vale's doin' a gig or two around Hoboken. Hey," he gestured to Furio, "we should all go." Tony grabbed a soda, checked his cell phone, then beckoned to his enforcer. "C'mon, chop chop." As they headed for the door, Furio looked back at Carmela. Her warm smile told him everything was right.

"Hello?"

"Hi Ma, it's me."

"Francesca! Sweet bleedin' Jesus, I've been trying to get in touch with you for like a week now! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Ma. I got kinda sick for a while. Feelin' better now."

"Oh, that's good. Did you have a fever?"

"Yeah."

"You must-a been pretty sick not to be able to call! Well, I'm glad you're feelin' better, honey, but really, I was worried outta my mind! I thought something terrible had happened to you."

"How was Shakespeare in the Park, Ma?"

"Oh, I loved it. Your father wasn't such a big fan. He thinks Shakespeare's overrated, do you believe that?"

Frankie laughed and her mother sighed.

"Francesca, I'm worried. You don't sound right. I wanna come see you."

"Thanks, Ma, that's real sweet, but there's no point, I'm all better already."

"I don't feel right."

"Ma, I'm sorry but I'm exhausted, I'm gonna go take a little nap, ok?"

"A nap? Well. Okay. I love you."

"Love you too Ma."

As Frankie hung up, a wave of exhaustion broke over her and she collapsed onto her bed and didn't move for the next nine hours. She dreamed of her mother and Furio this time. They were on a stage on the boardwalk, memorizing lines. Furio was trying to say something about the mortal coil, but her mother kept interrupting, giving advice, thinking she could do it better. Eventually a crowd gathered to watch, at which point Furio took off his shirt and dived into the icy Atlantic. He swam East until he was nothing but a speck on the horizon, and then he was gone. Frankie slipped deeper into a dreamless sleep, and when she woke she remembered nothing of the dream.

The persuasive techniques Furio used on Mayor Periera turned out to be famously effective. The bullheaded politician was now begging for mercy, broken in under five minutes. He fervently assured the unmoved hitman that indeed, he would now push for city financing on whatever projects the Sons of Italy decided to undertake.

Furio was profoundly indifferent. It didn't matter one way or the other. An ice-cold glass separated him from what he was doing, and he crushed the man's left hand beneath the heel of his boot as casually as if it was a cigarette butt, the bones splintering audibly. Periera screamed, and Furio spat on his writhing body out of force of habit, then left the room without a backward glance.

He crossed the street in great hurry to where Tony was waiting, grinning as he puffed on a cigar. "Andiamo."

"You know, Furio, thanks for doin' this. I know it don't seem to make a lotta sense, don't seem that important, but in time…gonna be a very fruitful operation. The Sons are completely under our control by now. They held out for a while, but nothing lasts forever."

Never no truer words spoken, thought Furio. They sped along the highway for a while, each man lost in his own thoughts. Tony made the turnoff to Patterson, but started heading in the opposite direction from 19th Ave.

"Tony, I should really be getting back if you don't have nothing else for me."

Tony just chuckled. "C'mon, it won't hurt to hang out with the boys at the Bing for a few. Have a couple drinks, huh?"

It wasn't really up for argument. Furio resigned himself to what would probably be a glorified bull session, and settled back. He just prayed Christopher was doing something else with himself today. It would never do to take revenge too soon.

They pulled into the Bing parking lot and went in through the back, past the spot where Tracee's soul had left her body. Something had changed in Furio. He felt sick at heart returning to this place where so many deaths had occurred, been mapped out and planned. A jet plane flew low overhead, and as Furio stared up at it, all he wanted was to take Frankie and sweep her away to some place without memories, where they could start anew, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world.

"Hey." Tony was poking his head out the back door of the Bing. "You comin' or what?"

Furio apologized and followed him. Tony just grinned and clapped him on the back as they went in.

"Ho! Furio," Silvio said as he embraced the taller man, "we missed ya!"

"I didn't," said Paulie, but he was kidding; he embraced Furio as well. Bobby brought around some drinks for everybody as they settled down to a card game. Furio's mind was somewhere else that night, though, and he didn't play as well as usual.

"Furio, whats'a matter with you?" Paulie demanded. "I'm actually winning some of the time."

Tony chuckled. "Countin' yer chickens early, Paul?" He laid down three aces and Paulie let out a curse.

"Deal me out this one," Furio said, and excused himself. He went into the main room bar and poured himself a 'buca. As the sweet alcohol ran through his blood, warming him up, he couldn't help but be reminded of the first time he had ever tasted sambuca. He'd been thirteen, at that point still living on the streets of Napoli with his best friend Marco. Unbeknownst to Marco, he had a crush on a girl who lived on Via Vespucci by the water. Giulietta. At the time he'd thought he was in love. He thought about her a lot, and always tried to find jokes and stories to tell her so that she would laugh. It was her laugh he liked most of all. He and Marco saw her sometimes, when she was alone or with her friends, and they would always find something crazy to do, like only thirteen year olds can. One night after Marco had robbed a liquor store, Furio came back to the shack where they lived after picking a few pockets successfully. There was a curtain, some shabby black crepe, dividing the shack in two (after all, thirteen year old boys need privacy) and there was some shuffling and thumping noises coming from the other side of it. Marco had gotten lucky. Furio found a half-full bottle of sambuca by the door. It looked like water but once he tasted it was almost too sweet. It was then that he heard the laughter from the other side of the curtain, that high, clear laughter that he'd tried to solicit more times than he could count, and he felt a dull blow to his stomach. He'd tried to make himself look under the crepe but couldn't. Instead he went outside, perched on a nearby rooftop, and finished off the sambuca. When Giulietta had left the shack after what seemed like an eternity, Furio tried to throw the empty bottle at her head, but by then he was so drunk that the shot was off and she didn't even notice. Furio returned to the shack to find a relaxed and well-fucked Marco, and tried to throttle him. Marco easily overpowered him. He had no idea why Furio was so angry but he could tell his friend was drunk. In the morning Furio suffered through his first hangover. He would never forget the wary, hurt look in Marco's eyes as he left to find breakfast. And even now, twenty-five years later, the taste of sambuca brought it back. Triumphant loneliness, longing and sweet nostalgia. That fleeting period between childhood and youth. The imaginary taste of Giulietta's lips on his, the reality that it never was. The half-forgotten scent of fish from the harbor mixed with rain and street-corner bonfires and sometimes roses from the blind woman on Via Nuova Marina. Furio sighed and drained off the sambuca. He stared through the front window, past the reflections of neon on wet surfaces and the rain, out to the highway.

A hand on his shoulder, and the enforcer spun around. It was Silvio, looking contrite. Contrite was Silvio's 'sympathetic'.

"I heard about your girl. Terrible thing."

"Yeah." Furio regarded him calmly. "You probably seen worse."

"That's true. Don't make it any less bad. Anyway, I offer you my condolences, as a man would to another man."

As if on cue, one of Silvio's star dancers, Destinee, appeared out of nowhere, took his arm, and began to playfully lead him upstairs.

"Ah, no, Silvio, I really can't…"

"Hey, c'mon," said Silvio. "Tony says you've been _agita_ all evening. We all could use the relief, you know? Forget about it." With a wink he clapped Furio on the back, and Furio found himself following Destinee. He didn't want to turn down Silvio's offer to his face, since the man was very quick to take offense. The last thing he needed now was Silvio spreading rumors he was a faggot.

Destinee dragged him into a small room filled with incense and satin, shut the door, and immediately dropped to her knees in front of him. For a second he wondered if it would really be all that bad to just go along with it. He struggled against his baser nature; the answer was yes. She fumbled with his zipper, but Furio sidestepped her, apologizing.

"I'm sorry but - "

"Oh, that's fine," Destinee interrupted with a toss of her blonde extensions, her feelings obviously slighted. "Not _good_ enough for ya, am I? Hold on a sec, I'll get someone _prettier_ from downstairs. What's your type?"

"You don't understand, you not the problem. You very pretty." Destinee paused at the compliment, her hand still on the doorknob. Furio realized just how low her self-esteem really was. "You too pretty for a place like this."

Destinee was obviously touched, and she turned around, hands on her skimpily clad hips. "So what's the problem then? I don't know about you but I like what I see." She rubbed up against him, and her expertise at turning men on was made abundantly clear. She looked into his eyes, and although her glossy lips were fixed in a seductive smirk, her eyes were unsure, lost-looking. Furio groaned and detached himself from her.

"The problem is, I got…I got a girlfriend."

Destinee was again confused. "So do most of the guys in this place."

"I can't…be with another woman. You know?" Furio sighed. "She was raped, less than a week ago."

"Oh." Destinee was at a loss for words. "My God. I'm sorry."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"I was raped too, six months ago. Right outside this place." The tears spilled down her cheeks and she hid her face. "Imagine, you stayin' true to her. So many guys would just be scumbags."

And just like that Furio found himself opening up to a highwayside go-go dancer about what had happened to Frankie, and all the feelings he had for her he hadn't realized until the words had come tumbling out of his mouth.

By the time he'd finished, she was looking at him with a kind of awe.

"I still can't believe it. You ain't never even kissed her? And here you are…that's true love. Takin' care of her like that. She's a lucky girl." Destinee sniffled. "I hope it all goes okay with her."

Destinee left the room and Furio followed. "Don't worry," said the stripper. "I'll tell Silvio we got it on. He gets pissed real easy."

"I thought I was the only one who noticed that," Furio said. "Come on, I buy you a drink."

"I hope I meet a guy like you someday," said Destinee. "A real prince."


End file.
